


freedom there, on the treeline

by sinteresting_facts



Series: Afterthoughts (WoW RP and OC Stuff) [6]
Category: Original Work, World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Pre-patch fic here we go, Shadowlands, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27553246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinteresting_facts/pseuds/sinteresting_facts
Summary: Beats from Northrend following the shattering of the Veil.
Series: Afterthoughts (WoW RP and OC Stuff) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1031495
Kudos: 2





	freedom there, on the treeline

He is mesmerized by it. Quite honestly he doesn’t know how he could ever look away from it, until he does. By accident, or when he’s tugged away from it.  
  
He can see the faint edges of the tear from their porch in the east, framed by redwoods and accompanied by the distant roar of grizzlies that should be the far more pressing matter at hand than some hole in the sky.

He’s heard that Sylvanas was the one who did it. He’s been snooping about the faire grounds, finding out what he could from the Argents. He found out a lot of…confusion, rumor, fear. Resolve.

Of course it was her, he’d thought with dark humor. _Of course._ Just like the Banshee to try and rip every home he and his people could have away from them. First Gilneas, now the whole world. He wonders if this was all part of her plan, death, chaos. It must be, it’s what he’s always assumed of her people, why would she be any different. He muses over a thermos of tea, a blend his mother had sent along with him the last time he visited her. Gods, he should visit her.

_I should visit mum._ He sips again from his thermos. _Before I die again._

Some nights he creeps out of bed, flies up to the top of a tree and watches it more even though he really should be sleeping what little he can get.

Some nights, he almost feels the stirring of a dream within himself. Something other than yawning darkness. He wonders, when he wakes up, if that’s what it feels like to be dead.

-

He got bolder quickly, venturing out of the relative safety (it is unsafe. It is so very unsafe—) of the Hills, and into Icecrown proper, actually staying there instead of merely snooping. The feeling standing beneath the awful, torn, beautiful veil was unlike anything Schaelarche had ever felt. He’s embarrassed to think that he cried once, watching it. It’s a beautiful thing, well and truly breath-taking. He’d cried, scared by the sad notion that he’d only be able to see beautiful things once they’d been destroyed.

His home, Azeroth, the Veil between Life and Death.

He sucked in a frigid, precious breath and exhaled a cloud of frost, eyes flicking upwards once more. The sky shards danced on the precipice between realms, faintly sounding like glass above the wind that whistled around Icecrown. Dreadful, dreadful state of affairs. But, beautiful and tempting. And intriguing.

Like it so often did, curiosity crawled up his spine and with the same steely, foolhardy nature as when he dove into the sea to face a God, he shifted into his raven form. The transformation was quick and practiced, barely visible as anything more than a puff of trailing cyan smoke and feathers. With deep, starlit eyes he gazed upwards, wings edging out from against his back while he thought. _Do I. Do I really want to try?_ He shivered and braced against a gust of wind. _I won’t go..too far._

Bobbing his head to himself seemed to be all of the encouragement he needed.

He flew a long time, till his wings were sore and his lungs burned. He croaked helplessly at the sky as he strained higher. _Please. Please I just need to see, I want to see it with my own eyes._

Once he lost his balance for the second time, he turned back, falling into a dive that he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to pull out of.

He did. He always did.

-

It was all fun and games until the Frostwyrm attacked him. Schaelarche had gone about on an errand, as some nameless faceless volunteer who just wanted to get firewood for the bonfires. He didn’t want to fight for the Argents, he just wanted any and all information they could give him. He’d’ve probably had more luck if he came with the backing of the company, but firewood collection would do for now.

On his way back from the pyre, wings once again sore but now from carrying armfuls of wood, he heard a bloodcurdling screech and the rattle of hollow, frozen bones. Darting a quick look behind him, he came nearly face to face with the plated bony face of a frostwyrm, dented and rusted and riddled with old spears in much the same shape. He let out a startled quork and rolled to one side, narrowly missing a bout of frozen magic spewed at him. Another roar rang through the air, the beast crying out in frozen anger as it lobbed another, more concentrated azure bolt at his direction.

Schaelarche tucked his wings in tight to the sides of his small body and dove, praying to any being that would listen for him to outrun the Frostbolt. He felt it graze one wing a half dozen yards over the ground, and the limb went frozen. He fell, rolling and tumbling across the bony wasteland for a good few feet before he cowered against the next blow. It never came—in fact the wyrm hadn’t even followed him down, instead taking interest in a mounted Argent hippogryph rider who he doubted was protecting a single crow, but he was thankful for all the same.

He bashed his wing against a smooth cranium embedded in the dirty snow until the ice chipped enough he could move it. Relief filled him, and he flapped his way across the Valley of Fallen Heroes. He finally shifted, opting to fade into shadow once he noted how many scourge forces still lingered on the ground here. That’s when he saw the Argent flyer gain the focus of another Frostwyrm. Within seconds, they fell and their body hit the ground with a muted crunch.

Schae gasped, resisting the impulse to call out. There was no way they’d’ve survived a fall from that height, after being frozen solid. He tucked his tail and ran, wary of the shadowy wings that passed over head stealing anyone and everyone away that they could.


End file.
